


that’s what friends are supposed to do

by gay_as_heck



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Childhood Friends, College, Elementary School, F/F, Friendship, High School, Homophobic Language, Hospitals, Infidelity, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Middle School, spoilers in the rest of the tags!, the writer has no clue how majoring in nursing works
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-02 19:28:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5260805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gay_as_heck/pseuds/gay_as_heck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was supposed to be a short pinch hit but it kind of got out of control and grew a life of its own (not that I'm complaining, I kind of fell in love with this AU).</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. you can count on me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [drinkbloodlikewine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/drinkbloodlikewine/gifts).



> This was supposed to be a short pinch hit but it kind of got out of control and grew a life of its own (not that I'm complaining, I kind of fell in love with this AU).

Patroclus and Briseis met on the playground at the age of five.

Actually, as Briseis likes to remind him, she was five going on six, and he had only just turned five.

He was sitting on the dirty black floor, his fingers dusty with chalk, a smudged drawing at his feet, when a shadow appeared over his artwork.

He looked up, squinting at her against the backdrop of the sun, and she smiled at him.

“My name’s Briseis,” she said solemnly. “But you can call me B, or Bri. Just don’t call me Seis.”

Patroclus nodded, smiled shyly. “I’m Patroclus. You can call me Pat, if you want.”

“What about Patty?”

Pat shook his head. “I don’t like it.”

She appeared to be thinking it over, then made a small noise of agreement before she sat down next to him, her curls bouncing. “What’re you drawing?”

He shrugged. “Just a house. My old house.”

“What about your new house?”

“I don’t like it.”

“Why not?”

“It’s cold, and it’s too big. And my mommy doesn’t live with us anymore.”

Briseis stayed quiet, and picked up a piece of chalk. She colored in the roof of his house with a bright pink color that didn’t go well with the deep brown color of the walls.

Not that it mattered to five year old Patroclus. Nine year old Patroclus might’ve cared, and nine year old Briseis would’ve thrown a piece of chalk at him and told him to shut the heck up, but that was besides the point.

Patroclus crawled over to the drawing and picked up a piece of white chalk, drawing lopsided windows on the roof even though his old house didn’t even have a second floor, let alone windows on the roof. Briseis smiled at him again, one with all her perfect five year old teeth showing, and Pat smiled back.

“Wanna be friends?”

“Okay.”

* * *

In the first grade, they both had the teacher no one wanted to have: Mrs. Mills.

“She’s mean,” a small blonde girl whispered.

“Quiet, boys and girls,” she warned.

Briseis poked Patroclus in his side. “She’s not like Ms. F.”

“Shhh.”

They filed into the room quietly, and stood in line as Mrs. Mills called out their names from a seating chart. Pat’s name was called, a middle spot in the second row, and Briseis’ was called after him.

“At least we’re next to each other,” he whispered, and Briseis smiled.

“Shhh!"

* * *

 When they moved on to the second grade, they were in separate classes. Briseis was displeased.

“We’re still friends, though.”

“But,” Briseis smacked the tetherball quickly, “now we can’t sit next to each other.”

Patroclus sent the ball flying back to her. “We probably wouldn’t anyway. Second grade’s different.”

“Not that different,” she huffed, swinging wildly and missing, the ball sailing past her head.

Patroclus laughed, and proceeded to get hit in the ear.

“Ow!” He clutched his head, falling to his knees.

“Pat!! Are you okay?” Briseis raced over to him, her skirt fluttering in the mild breeze.

“No, I’m dead.” Patroclus threw himself to the ground, eyes closed and tongue sticking out. He cracked his eyes open to see Briseis frowning at him, trying to hide a smile.

“You’re getting your pants dirty.”

“Dead people don’t care about clothes.”

“But your dad does.”

“He won’t care when I’m dead.”

“But you’re not dead.”

“Yeah I am.”

“Pat, get up.”

“Kay."

* * *

“My mom’s dead.”

Briseis sat up. They were in third grade now, trapped somewhere in the middle of all the grades. Too old to play with the younger kids, too little to play with the fifth and sixth graders. 

“Like, for real dead?”

“For real dead.”

“When?”

“Before I moved here.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You never asked me. No one ever asked me.”

“What about Mother’s Day?”

“I make a card. I go home and throw it away.” His eyes welled up with unexpected tears, and he wiped them away furiously with the sleeve of his sweater. _Don’t cry, you big baby._

She hugged him, and he leaned on her, his head resting in the crook of her neck. He sniffed, once, then pulled away.

“Wanna go play handball?”

“Yeah."

* * *

The following year, he went to Briseis’ house for the first time.

They had a project to work on, a reconstruction of the San Diego mission. Briseis had offered up her house for them to work at, since she only lived a block away from school.

They walked to her house, a small, light blue single story home right in between two huge, three story houses, and she pulled him up the front porch stairs, shouting through the screen door “Open the door!”

“Don’t shout!” A thin voice called out, footsteps approaching the door. A tall, dark skinned woman with her hair up in a bun opened the door, smiling at them both. “Come on, come in.” She ushered them through the door. “Are you hungry, thirsty?”

“I want apple juice!” Briseis piped up, sliding into a chair in the small kitchen. “Pat wants some too.”

“Manners, baby,” she replied, turning to the fridge to pull out a gallon of juice. “Ask your friend if he wants some.”

“Do you want apple juice?” Briseis turned to him expectantly. Patroclus replied with a nod and a small smile. 

“He said yes.”

“Alright.” Briseis’ mother placed two blue cups on the table. “Drink up, then get started on your homework. Try not to make too much noise, Dimitri’s napping.”

“Dimitri?” Patroclus mouthed as she left the room.

“My baby brother,” Briseis said. “He’s in pre-school.”

“Where’s your dad?” Patroclus asked.

“At work. Mom works too, but she took the day off because she was throwing up a lot.” Leaning in closer to him, she stage whispered, “She’s having a baby.”

“Now, why are you telling everyone all of my business, B?” Patroclus jumped as her mother walked back in the room. “Did I scare you? I’m sorry.” She ruffled his hair. “Now get to work. That mission’s not gonna build itself."

Briseis chugged down her apple juice before reaching into her backpack and pulling out the paper with the list of requirements on it. “Did you bring the cardboard for the bottom?”

“Yeah.” He grabbed his backpack and placed it on the table, and Briseis unzipped it and took out the flimsy piece of cardboard.

“Cool. Let’s start." 

“Hey..”

“What?”

“I like your mom.”

Briseis smiled. “I like her, too.”

* * *

In the fifth grade, Patroclus figured out he was gay.

It was more an accident than anything else. He was in the library, searching through the book shelves for a book his teacher would consider thick enough to read over the course of a week. It was a thing with Ms. Díaz. Every Wednesday morning, their entire class marched over to the school library to pick a book they would keep on their desk for the rest of the week to read during Silent Reading Time (yes, it was capitalized).

Patroclus always dreaded it. Not because he hated reading, he liked it well enough. More because he didn’t understand how their teacher expected them to choose a book in less than 15 minutes. He needed to look a book over, read a few pages, get a feel for it before he made a commitment to it.

(Briseis, of course, had no such problem. She would waltz in, pick five random books off a shelf, check them out, and finish them all by the end of the day.)

This particular Wednesday was hectic. Patroclus had arrived at school fifteen minutes late because his dad had slept through the alarm, then wasted an extra ten minutes blaming Pat for it. Of course. By the time he got to school, the entire class was already on their way to the library, and Pat was on the verge of tears.

He dropped his backpack at the door of his class and all but ran to join the class, catching up with Briseis, who brought up the rear of the line.

“What happened?” Briseis whispered, her hand resting on his arm lightly.

“My alarm didn’t go off.”

She searched his face for any sign of lying, seemed to fine none, and shrugged, skipping ahead of him into the library. She always had to be the first one inside to get the best pick of books. He was honestly surprised that she hadn’t finished reading every book in there already. 

He trudged in along with the rest of his classmates, eyes trailing over the dull brown bookshelves. He really didn’t feel like picking out a book, let alone reading it for the rest of the week, but he knew Ms. Diaz wouldn’t take that for an answer.

He wandered into a corner, glancing at the row of medium sized books in front of him. They all had a thin layer of dust on them, obscuring the titles from view.

It seemed like no time had gone by when Ms. Díaz was giving her “two minutes” warning.

“Shoot,” Pat grabbed a book off the shelf, blowing the dust off it. It was non-descript, a dark yellow hardcover book with a generic looking white guy on it. He skimmed through the book, and his eyes fell on the phrase “money burrows a hole in my pocket”. 

 _I thought it was 'burns a hole in your pocket'_ , he thought to himself, skipping forward to look at the summary.

If you asked Patroclus today, he couldn’t tell you why he picked the book. It didn’t look all that interesting, and it was in the back, covered in dust, which meant nobody had read it in years.

He picked it up anyway.

Briseis was already at the front desk, an impatient look on her face as an elderly librarian gave her a speech.

“What’s up?” Patroclus asked.

Briseis rolled her eyes. “She was telling me that if I felt uncomfortable reading this book at anytime I could 'always return it, with no pressure at all to finish it’.” She held out a purple book, a girl with dirty blonde hair on the cover, staring out, straight into Pat’s soul, it seemed. _Tiger Eyes_ was printed in white text above her head.

“I bet it has sex in it,” Briseis said gleefully, clutching her pile of books to her chest. “I’ll wait for you outside."

Patroclus went through the line with no trouble and met up with Briseis outside. Their class made their way back to room 111, chattering excitedly. Not about the books they’d picked, obviously. They were laughing at some comedian who’d somehow managed to get away with checking out _The Cat In The Hat_. Ms. Díaz hadn’t noticed, but when she noticed she was definitely sending him right back to the library. 

As soon as they reached the classroom, Ms. Díaz instructed them to take out their books and read for twenty minutes. Pat picked up his book and absentmindedly read, thinking more about what they were serving for lunch today than his book (he’d had to skip breakfast to leave his house as early as possible). Halfway through the second chapter, it hit him: this guy was gay.

He flipped back to the first chapter, read through it carefully. He was a senior in high school (which seemed ancient to a ten year old), had a boyfriend named Alex, an ex girlfriend named Brittany, and he was gay. He looked up quickly, whipped his head around, then looked back down at his book in amazement. He almost wanted to say the word out loud. Of course, there were other words going through his mind. Faggot, queer, homo.

He took the book home with it that night, kept it stashed in the bottom of his backpack, under his notebook and his pencil box and the crumpled up sheets of paper. He had a feeling almost like an adrenaline rush every time he remembered the book he had hidden away, right under his father’s nose (his father was vocal about how ‘those perverts are ruining this country’ and ‘the bible says Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve’, even though Pat couldn’t remember ever going to church).

He finished the book that night, by the weak light of his nightlight (which his dad said he was too old to have), his eyes straining to devour every word. The ending was confusing, (why did he have sex with that girl if he was gay?) but he loved it anyway. He tucked it under his pillow and went back to sleep, and it seemed like he’d barely closed his eyes before his dad was knocking on his door. 

He went to school tired, but excited. Were there other books like that in the library? Were they all in the back, covered in dust, and unread? As soon as he stepped onto school grounds he raced towards the library, making a beeline for the dusty bookshelf in the back. He closed his eyes and picked a book at random, took it to the front desk and left to his classroom with a lightness in his heart he hadn’t felt since his mother had died.

(The book ended up being some boring story about a girl who fell in love with her best friend, the boy next door.)

* * *

 He came out to Briseis in the sixth grade.

They were in her room, sitting on the floor and cutting pictures out of magazines “for a notebook”, when he decided he had to tell her.

“B?”

“Hmm?” Briseis’ forehead was scrunched up, her tongue sticking out of her mouth slightly as she cut around Britney Spear’s head.

“What do you think of gay people?”

She shrugged. “They’re just like everybody else. They eat, they sleep, they poop.”

“Gross,” Pat threw a magazine at her, which landed right on her head.

“Dude, you made me mess up. I cut the top of Britney’s head off.”

“Tough.” 

Briseis stuck her tongue out at him, and tossed Brit aside, picking up a picture of Miley Cyrus.

“Seriously, though.”

“Seriously what?”

“Gay people.”

“I dunno. I mean, my uncle’s gay. I’m pretty sure Ms. Díaz is a lesbian. They’re the same as everybody else.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Ms. Díaz is a lesbian?” 

“I mean, I’m pretty sure. The only pictures on her desk are of her and this Chinese lady, and in some of them they’re holding hands.”

“Why do you say Chinese? That’s racist.”

“She told me her name was Melody Cho, and that she's her best friend.”

“Then why do you assume-“

“Dude, they were holding hands. At the beach. I’m pretty sure they’re at least a little gay.”

“Only a little bit,” Patroclus agreed. Briseis snorted.

“Why do you ask though?”

“I…” Pat went back to cutting. “No reason.”

“You know you can tell me anything, right? We’re best friends.”

“I know.”

They worked in silence for a little while, cutting out pictures and tossing them into a small pile between them.

“I think I’m gay.” He held his breath, his scissors stilled right above Justin Timberlake’s ear.

“Cool,” Briseis smiled at him. “I’m glad you trust me enough to tell me. That’s some serious shit.”

“Don’t cuss at me.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not cussing at you. It’s just a general kind of cussing.”

“Who’s cussing?” Briseis’ dad shouted from the kitchen. “There’s no cussing allowed in this house.”

“No one, dad!” Briseis giggled. “Hey, you messed up Justin’s hair.”

Pat looked down. He’d cut off some of Justin’s curls. “He looks like he just woke up and has bedhead.”

“You’re right. I’ll put that picture on my pillow tonight.”

“Ew.”

“You’re ew."

“I’m rubber, you’re glue.”

“Hey,” Briseis clambered to her feet. “Wanna go help my dad feed Catia? I bet she threw applesauce in his hair.”

“Sure."

* * *

Briseis was there for him in seventh grade when he fell in love for the first time.

In retrospect, it wasn’t love. It was a (pathetic) crush. 

It felt awfully close to love at the time.

Paul was an eighth grader, and on the basketball team. He was tall, taller than Briseis, and she was five inches taller than Patroclus at the time (that changed in their freshman year of high school, when he put on forty pounds and shot up almost an entire foot). He had long, dark hair, down his back in a braid, cheeks marked with acne, and hands with double jointed knuckles. 

Briseis found his crush amusing.

“This isn’t funny,” he groaned into his pillow. “This is serious.”

“Oh, I agree,” Briseis giggled. “It’s serious alright. Seriously funny.”

“That was such a bad joke I’m not even giving it a fake laugh.”

“You suck.”

“No, _you_ suck.”

“Witty.”

“Love has no wit.”

“Don’t be a drama queen.” She crawled closer to him, her hand rubbing circles on his back soothingly. “You gotta admit this is such a cliché, though. Quiet, small gay guy falls for tall, popular jock? Classic.”

“Not helping.”

“I know.” Briseis paused. “If it makes it any better, I know for a fact he’s not a homophobe, at least.”

“How do you know?” Pat’s heart (without his consent, damnit) lifted just a little bit.

“His best friend, you know, that football player with the curly hair? I think his name’s Brian. He’s bi.”

“ _Really?_ "

She nodded. “If you ever decided to crush on Brian instead of Paul, you at least have a shot with him.”

“But I don’t want Brian.”

“Just a suggestion.”

He never told Paul anything, and the following year, Paul (and his cheekbones and his nice hands) moved to Arkansas. 

* * *

 In the eighth grade, Briseis came out to him.

“What took you so long?”

“Straight people,” Briseis answered seriously.

“Such a great topic for lunch,” he replied, shoving a forkful of mystery meat into his mouth.

“I agree.”

“Why here though? We’re at school. In the middle of lunch. Eating,” he glanced down at his plate, “who knows what.”

Briseis shrugged. “I like attention.”

“From me, and me alone? ’Cause no one else’s paying attention to us.”

“Yup."

Pat took a sip of lukewarm milk. “We should throw a party.”

“Or we could start a GSA.”

Patroclus choked on his milk. Briseis whacked him between the shoulder blades until his wheezing subsided.

“I think I just coughed up a lung.”

“Sexy."

Pat glared at Briseis, who laughed.

“Lighten up, kiddo.”

“Seriously, tho, B, a GSA? That’s like sticking a piece of paper that says “Kick Me” on your back.”

“There’s an S in there, for the straight allies. Anyone who doesn’t wanna be outed can just say they’re a straight ally. Or we can pull a Geography Club.”

“The hell is that?”

“It’s this book about gay kids, and they wanna start a club where they can like, hang out and be gay and stuff, but they don’t want it to be a GSA. So they start a geography club ‘cause they figure no one in their right mind wants to join a club about geography. I think they’re making a movie about it.”

“Sounds great, but I’ll pass. I wanna make it out of here in one piece, thank you very much.”

“Brian made it out in one piece.”

“Brian’s 5’10’’ and weighs…well I don’t know how much he weighs, but I bet it’s a lot.”

“Next year, then. High school’ll be better.”

“I guess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: Briseis' and Patroclus' experiences in 5th grade both actually happened to me when I was in elementary school. I did, in fact, check out Tiger Eyes and read it in one day, to the dismay of the librarian who told me I could bring it back 'if it made me uncomfortable'. I also read a gay book that no one even glanced at at the front desk (maybe no one knew it was about a gay teenager). I spent almost an entire decade looking for said book, because as soon as I read it I completely forgot the title, and then moved schools. I recently found it after posting on several forums *Marlin voice* HAVE YOU SEEN MY BOOK?! The book is ["Hello," I Lied by M.E. Kerr](https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/396133.Hello__I_Lied), if anyone's interested.


	2. like one, two, three

 High school was, in fact, not better.

On the first day of ninth grade, someone stepped on Pat’s shoes (three damn times), he got lost (he walked into a senior physics class, sat down, looked at the syllabus, and promptly walked out), and he swore he heard someone whisper something vaguely threatening in his ear.

That’s high school for you.

Ninth grade passed by fairly uneventfully. He and Briseis only had P.E. together, for first period, which meant he got to be around Briseis not only when she was at her grumpiest, but also her sweatiest.

Briseis got a girlfriend that year. She was pretty nice, if shy. She was short, only about 5 feet tall, and full figured.

“Her name’s Helen,” Briseis said proudly. “Isn’t she cute?”

Patroclus glanced at the photo. “She doesn’t look like your type.”

“Too girly girl?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, well, she’s the only girl who’s not straight at the godforsaken school. Plus, she’s pretty.”

“Shallow.”

“Pseudo intellectual."

“Touché.”

Patroclus lusted after a short, stocky boy named Ricardo who was on the Academic Decathlon team, made a few friends in his English class, and sat next to Briseis and Helen during lunch as they argued (and argued, and argued, and argued. The only time they didn’t argue was when they were making out, and Patroclus, frankly, stayed away from them during their makeout sessions).

Helen and Briseis broke up exactly eight times that year. He knew, because every time they broke up Briseis would call him, crying, about how much she hated her, and wasn’t she just the worst girlfriend ever, and she never considered Briseis’ feelings at all, and she _saw_ her flirting with Paris during Algebra, no matter how much she denied it.

The next day they would be cooing over each other at lunch. It was nauseating. 

“You’d be exactly the same if you had a boyfriend,” Briseis pointed out.

“Yeah, but I don’t, so I get to make fun of you for being so gross.”

“Fair enough. But I’m just waiting till you get a boyfriend so I can make fun of _you_.”

“We’ll see."

* * *

Ninth grade came and went, and tenth grade crept up on Patroclus, as did his first boyfriend.

Turns out Ricardo from Academic Decathlon was, in fact, gay. A mutual friend of Briseis and Ricardo had discreetly told Briseis that Ricardo might be interested in Pat, and Briseis had taken it upon herself to be their unofficial matchmaker. 

Ricardo was a junior, now, and had somehow become more handsome over the course of the year. He had thick, dark curly hair that spilled onto his shoulders, and his skin was an ochre color that seemed to glow in the sun.

Ricardo had approached him first, thanks to Briseis’ encouragement, and they’d done the courting dance for an entire four months before Ricardo had asked him out. Patroclus, of course, graciously accepted.

Briseis was smug, because now she got to give him hell as payback for his comments freshman year (her relationship with Helen was waning, and everyone could see that they were a breakup away from being done for good).

Ricardo could drive, and offered to take him out to the movies. Patroclus fed his dad a story about going to the mall with Briseis, then walked half a block for Ricardo to pick him up at a corner.

“Hey, Pat.”

“Hey, um, Ricardo.”

“You can call me Ricky, or Rick, if you want. Ricardo’s kind of a mouthful.”

“Try being named Patroclus.”

“I’ll pass.” He smiled, then sped down the street.

“So,” Ricky turned to him and smiled, “you got any particular movie in mind?”

Pat shook his head. “I didn’t even bother to check.”

“Me either,” he admitted. “But I guess it doesn’t really matter what we see.”

They got tickets to some action movie, and sat down all the way in the back, both of them looking at each other out of the corners of their eyes and pretending they were paying attention to the movie. Pat put his hand on the armrest between them, and Ricky put his hand a millimeter away from his, so close if one of them even breathed too deeply they would be touching.

The movie ended, but Patroclus and Ricardo sat there as everyone else filed out. 

“Do you, um, wanna go get something to eat?” Ricky looked down at their hands and Patroclus swore he saw a flush in his cheeks. “I don’t know if you have to be home by a certain time or whatever.”

“It’s only six. I probably have another hour before my dad puts out an Amber Alert.”

“Cool,” Ricky stood up and stretched. “There’s a good burger place a coupla blocks from here, if you like burgers.”

“Who doesn’t like burgers?”

“Good point.”

Their first date went smoothly, and so did the one after that, and the one after that. Briseis pressed him for details, but Patroclus didn’t “kiss and tell.”

“So you _have_ kissed him.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You implied it.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

“Did not."

“Just kiss him already. And tell me when you do.”

“Yes, boss.”

The truth was, he was a little scared. He’d never kissed anyone before, not even Briseis in some kind of “practicing for the real thing” scenario. He’d privately always thought that was bullshit. It sounded like it only happened to white people in movies.

But that was besides the point. What if he was bad at kissing? What if his breath smelled so bad Ricky decided that a move to another country was the only proper way to deal with it? What if _Ricky_ was a bad kisser? 

 _That’s it_ , he decided. _It’s happening today._

But that was easier said than done.

Ricky didn’t show up to school that day, or the next day.

“Sucks that _two_ of your boyfriends have moved away in such a short amount of time.”

“I haven’t had two-“ Briseis waggled her eyebrows at him. “God, shut up about Paul already.”

“So you do remember him.”

“Duh.”

“I was just checking.” Briseis raised her hands defensively.

“Don’t listen to her, Pat,” Helen said absentmindedly, her eyes on her phone. “She’s just being weird.”

“As if you even care,” Briseis mumbled.

“What?”

“What?”

“If you guys don’t cut it out I’m gonna go eat my lunch in the quad. It’s too nice outside to be cooped up in here listening to you two fight.”

“No, no, say what you said before,” Helen demanded. 

“You heard me.”

“I really didn’t, so say it again.”

Patroclus stood up. “I’ll be in the library, watching the books gather dust.”

Ricky showed up the next day, drowsy on cold medicine and with a still-sore throat. 

They were in the library after school, pretending to study when they were really just seeing how long they could hold hands without one of them chickening out, when it happened.

Ricky was animatedly detailing a fever induced nightmare involving purple lions and naked elderly people when Pat leaned over and just kissed him.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m sorry. I just-“

He was cut off by Ricky leaning over and kissing him back, his soft, warm lips exerting a light pressure on his own.

Ricky pulled away, smiling slightly, and that’s when Pat said the weirdest thing you could ever say after a first kiss.

“You smell like cough drops.”

Ricky laughed so hard he lost his breath, putting his head down on the table and earning a glare from the librarian.

“Shhh,” Patroclus blushed, punching Ricky’s arm. “It wasn’t that funny.”

“It kind of was, though.”

“Only a little.”

“Or a lot.”

“You’re a jerk.”

Ricky leaned over and kissed him again, and this time Pat brought his hands up to cup Ricky’s cheeks, and Ricky’s hands were on his waist, and it was the best kiss he’d ever had in his life. Not that he had much to compare it to.

“Hey."

“What?” Patroclus tilted his head.

“You smell like oranges."

* * *

Eleventh grade was hectic.

Ricky was applying to colleges, Briseis was pressuring Pat about what college he wanted to go to (they had to go to the same one, of course), and Briseis and Helen broke up for good two weeks before school started.

Everyone saw it coming. It didn’t stop them from consoling Briseis and telling her she’d find someone new, but they’d all been waiting for the inevitable.

Helen started dating Paris a month into the new school year.

“I need a new girlfriend,” Briseis said, kicking at a patch of weeds growing through a crack in the sidewalk.

“No, you don’t.”

“Says the person who’s not single.”

“Says the person who did just fine when he was single, to the person who’ll do just fine now that she’s single.”

“I could die, you know. Of a broken heart.”

“You should join the drama club.”

“I should. I have lots of life experience.”

“Sure, that’s why.”

“Dick.”

“Vagina.”

“Scrotum.”

“Clitoris.”

“Ok, I knew that you guys have a weird relationship,” Ricky cut in, “But I didn’t know it was this weird."

“It gets weirder, trust me.”

Briseis started eyeing Cassandra, a small, emo looking sophmore whom everyone was afraid of.

“Why her?”

“First Helen’s too girly girl, now Cassandra’s too goth. I’m starting to think you want me for yourself, Pat.”

He snorted. “Yeah, me and you in a sexless, romantic-love-less relationship. True life goals.”

“Platonic life mates. It could work.”

“But think about. Really think about it.”

Briseis paused, then shuddered. “You’re right, it could never work."

~~

Junior year ended so quickly it was scary. SATs, CSTs, Common Core. The year went by in a blur of standardized tests and college visits, along with the rapid progression of his relationship with Ricky. Briseis teased him about it, but he was so head over heels he honestly didn’t care.

“Pat?”

“Hm.” 

“I love you."

He almost stopped breathing, his heart going at about a hundred miles per hour under his thin white shirt.

“You don’t have to say it back, or anything. No pressure. I just wanted to let you know.”

Patroclus rolled onto his side, the short grass of Ricky’s lawn scratching him.

“No, I…I love you too.”

“Yeah?”

Pat nodded, and Ricky pulled him down for a kiss.

* * *

Ricky went away to Stanford. Full ride, thanks to AcaDeca.

Briseis and Patroclus applied to five colleges that had sounded good, and prayed. A lot.

“Which one do you want to get into?”

"I don’t even care,” Briseis said. “I mean, as long as someone accepts me, I’m good.”

“Such high standards.”

“School is a social construct, created by the people who want to keep the rest of us-”

“Ok, ok,” Pat put his hand on Briseis’ mouth. “Shush.”

Briseis licked his hand.

“That’s disgusting.”

“It got your hand off my mouth, didn’t it?"

~~

Ricky cheated on him two weeks before he was supposed to come home for winter break.

He called him, drunk and crying, at one in the morning, begging Pat to forgive him for a crime Pat didn’t even know he’d committed.

“Babe?”

“Ricky, it’s one in the morning. Are you ok?”

“No…Pat, I did something bad.”

Patroclus sat up. “Bad like illegal?”

“No.” Pat heard Ricky choke back a sob. “Bad, like, bad. I…I was at this party, last week, and I…this dude, I just…”

“Ricky?”

“We had sex. Pat, I’m so sorry, I swear it didn’t mean anything. I was drunk, I didn’t know what I was doing.”

Pat hung up.

He deleted Ricky’s number from his phone, unfriended him on every social media account he had, and never spoke to him again.

He didn’t go to school that day, and Briseis showed up at around 11, a container of ice cream and a box set of Zac Efron movies (yes, it did, in fact, include High School Musical).

“What did he do?” 

“How did you kno-“

“You didn’t show up to school, and you didn’t even text me to keep me from worrying.” She sat down next to him. “If it hurts too much, you don’t have to tell me, but I’m here, okay? I’m here.” She popped in 17 Again and sat next to him, letting him put his head in her lap and watch a movie with little to no plot but incredibly attractive actors.

“He cheated,” Pat whispered as the credits rolled onto the screen.

Briseis’ hand slowed on his head, clenching into a fist. “That asshole. That dickface. That-“

“It’s okay. I just…let’s watch The Lorax."

“But Efron’s face isn’t even in that one.”

“But that’s your favorite Zac Efron movie.”

“Who said I have a favorite Zac Efron movie?”

“You did. Last week. When I said ‘Hey, what’s your favorite Zac Efron movie, B?’. And you said ‘Probably The Lorax.’”

“Damn, you’re right.”

~~

Briseis and Patroclus both got into the University of Berkely, and the University of Pomona. They both decided that Berkley was the best choice.

“What are we even gonna do when we get there?”

Briseis shrugged. “I dunno. They have a good science program.”

“You don’t even like science,” Pat snorted, sidestepping a puddle on the sidewalk.

“Who says I don’t like science?”

“You. In physiology class. Every day.”

“Maybe my groans are groans of pleasure,” she shot back.

“Then I feel sorry for anyone having sex with you.”

“For your information, Cass _loves_ to hear me moan.”

“Too much information, B. Too much.”

* * *

Briseis and Patroclus left to college two whole months before school started. 

In their defense, not only did they _really_ want to explore what was to be their new home for the next for years before school started, but Pat also decided graduation was a good time to come out to his dad.

The senior Menotiades was…displeased, to say the least.

To put it in further detail, he kicked Patroclus out of his house. 

He stayed with Briseis and her family for a few weeks, until his dad calmed down enough to have a civil conversation with him. The conversation ended in tears, with his dad saying something to the effect of “hate the sin love the sinner”, and Pat packing all his stuff up and keeping it in the back of Briseis’ fifteen year old secondhand car.

“You know my family loves you like you’re their blood, right?”

“I know.”

They began their road trip from Artesia, New Mexico, to Berkeley, California the next week.

~~

Patroclus fell in love in the first five minutes of his English 101 class.

He was blonde, tall, and lanky, with deeply tanned skin and beautiful green eyes, and Pat had never wanted anyone so much in his whole life.

“Dude, I’m gay, and _I'd_ bang him.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m serious.” Briseis took a sip of her milkshake. “He’s actually really cute. I approve.”

“All of this talk is great, but it’s not gonna help me, you know, find the courage to talk to him,” Pat pouted, tapping his fingers against the dark blue tabletop.

“Ask him for help in with homework, or sit near him next time you go to class.”

“But I don’t need help in English.”

“That’s not the point, and you know it.”

“How’s Cassie?” Pat abruptly changed the subject.

“She’s fine,” Briseis said. “But asking after her isn’t going to get you out of this conversation.”

“What if I bribed you with two chocolate chip cookies?”

“You know me too well.”

Turns out, he didn’t even have to try to approach English hottie, since blondie walked into class five minutes late, then plopped himself into the seat right next to Patroclus’ and gave him a dazzlingly bright smile.

“Hey.”

“Uh, hi.”

“I’m Achilles.”

“Patroclus. You can call me Pat.”

“Pa-tro-clus.” Achilles smiled again. “I like it.”

“Um, cool,” Patroclus trailed off. What the hell was he supposed to say after that?

Achilles turned out to be a chatty Cathy. Over the next hour and a half, he found out Achilles' major (Psychology), his favorite sport (football, of course), where he was from (a small town near Bakersfield), and where his parents were from (his mother was a Greek immigrant, his dad was the child of Greek immigrants).

Before Professor Tumanyan dismissed them, a small piece of paper found its way onto his desk, and then Achilles was gone with a flick of his hair and a broad smile.

Ten digits were scrawled across the paper, and Patroclus clutched it to his chest (as if he was a twelve year old with an embarrassing crush) before he called Briseis with the news.

They started dating almost alarmingly quickly; becoming an official item before the week was out, and changing their Facebook statuses less than a week after that.

“Does anyone still even use Facebook?”

“You use it,” Pat pointed out.

“That’s ‘cause Cassie’s parents won’t let her have any other social media.”

“Oh, that’s right, I forgot that you’re a cradle rob-“

“Shut up!” Briseis threw her pillow at him. “She’s only a year younger than me. And it’s not like we’re banging on every available surface.”

“But you have had sex, right?”

“A lady doesn’t kiss and tell.”

“Oh, please.”

“I’m gonna start asking invasive questions about _your_ sex life.”

“I’ve only been dating Achilles for like two weeks, calm down.”

“I’ve heard gay guys move fast.”

“No, that’s lesbians.”

“Is not.”

“Is too.”

Achilles told him he loved him six months into their relationship. As much as Patroclus really, really wanted to, he couldn’t say it back.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Achilles wrapped his arm around him. “I know I move too fast. I fall in love really fast. It’s kind of a bad habit.

“I-"

Achilles kissed him, his hands resting on his sides, and Patroclus made a small noise in the back of his throat, his fingers entangling themselves in Achilles’ wild locks. His boyfriend pulled away and smiled at him.

“I love you, but I don’t want you to force yourself to say it. I can wait.”

Pat knew at that moment that he loved him.

* * *

It was his sophomore year before he decided what it is he was going to major in.

“I wanna be a nurse.”

“Shut up.”

“You shut up.”

“Dude,” Briseis sat up. “I narrowed down my choices, and right now I’m stuck between midwife and preschool teacher. Isn’t that freaky?”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious.”

“How serendipity.”

“What’s lover boy majoring in again?”

“Right now? Sports psych. He’ll change his mind again in like two weeks.”

“Why are we all majoring in sciencey medical stuff?”

“It’s the only field that always needs a constant flow of trained profressionals.”

“You could’ve said something nice like ‘because we’re all cool and we think alike’.”

“But I’m not nice.” 

“You’re right, you’re a dick.”

“Hey, wait, why midwifery? You wanna see babies coming out of vaginas? That sounds kinda...disgusting.”

“The miracle of life.”

“You’re so full of shit.”

“It takes less time to become a midwife than a doctor, it pays pretty well, and babies look like monkeys coming out of the womb.”

“That sounds more like you.”

“Shut up.”

Patroclus went to go see his counselor a few days later, who admonished him for not coming to him sooner, and got him on the right track to major in nursing. Which meant lots of science. And math. Ugh.

“Math’s not that bad.”

“Et tu, Achilles?”

“Seriously,” Achilles crouched down by Pat, where he was struggling over some stupid ass equation. “I’ll help you out.”

“I’ll love you forever if you can help me pass my chemistry class.”

“Then I should get started, so we can be even on the love scale.”

“That was so gay.”

“We’ve been dating for an entire year.”

“I know.”

Briseis and Cassandra broke up abruptly. Briseis gave a vague ‘we grew apart’ answer (which they both knew wasn’t really an answer), and Patroclus tried not to push her. Not too much, anyway.

“Sometimes I think Achilles would take you to Las Vegas and marry you right now if he could.”

“But I don’t want a Vegas wedding. So unromantic.”

“What _is_ your ideal wedding?” Briseis poked him with her pencil. “We should start planning it now, just in case."

“Something small. Like in a backyard, or on the beach. Somewhere I don’t have to wear shoes. I want it to have the shortest ceremony possible, so my future husband and I can get the hell out of dodge and go somewhere far away from our honeymoon.”

“That’s actually not a bad idea. Save the money for your honeymoon.”

“Millennials. Always thinking about how to save money.”

“Thanks to the baby boomers.”

“Yeah, fuck those guys.”

* * *

The rest of college passed by in a blur of 20 page papers, lots of crying, caffeine, cheap pizza, and an accidental weed brownie (don't even ask). Patroclus was honestly surprised that he could stand upright at his graduation. He had seriously considered dropping out of school, selling a kidney (who needed two anyway), and moving to some remote town in Mexico, since Briseis was fairly fluent in Spanish.

“That’s an unrealistic plan.”

“Why do you always kill my dreams?”

“Think about it, Pat. Whoever buys your kidney could just steal the rest of your organs, and then you’d die. Plus, I’m _okay_ in Spanish, not good enough to survive there. I can ask for the bathroom, water, and the nearest police officer. Which, by the way, would be useless to ask for in Mexico, since the police are just as corrupt over there as they are in the Land of the Free.”

“Thanks, Ms. Political.”

“I’m just saying. You gotta think things through.”

“Let’s move to Canada then.”

“That’s…actually not a bad idea. Canada’s okay sometimes.”

“Only sometimes.”

“They have their off days.”

“Kudos to Canada for only having ‘off’ days, and not entire centuries.”

“Canada’s no Disneyland, you know,” Achilles piped up from the couch.

“Who invited you into this debate?”

“Well, I mean, if I’m gonna go with you guys, I have a say in where we go. Canada’s out. We gotta go to some remote island in the Caribbean or something.”

“He’s right,” Briseis said. “Let’s go to Jamaica. I heard it’s nice there.”

“Why do I even put up with you two? Neither of you wants to let me live my dream!”

“We’re trying to help save you from your dumbass plan.”

“That’s just rude.”

~~

Patroclus graduated with honors (barely) and started working at a small hospital an hour away from Berkley, where Briseis freelanced at sometimes. It should’ve surprised Pat that even adult life couldn’t keep her tied down, but it really didn’t.

Achilles stayed in school, working towards a PhD in Psychology (gods save him), and he and Patroclus moved into a small apartment together, about twenty minutes away from his campus.

“You know, if we’re going to live together _happily_ -"

“Emphasis on the word _happily_ , I noticed.”

“Very observant, babe. Anyway, if we’re going to live together happily, you just have to accept that I’m never, _ever_ going to wash dishes. Ever. I’d rather clean the toilet than wash dishes.”

Achilles laughed, leaning against Pat’s shoulder. “It’s definitely not a deal breaker, Pat. I think I can live with washing the dishes.”

“You say that now, but just wait until your hands are wrinkly, your clothes are soapy, and you can’t close your eyes without seeing the mountain of dishes in the sink on the inside of your eyelids.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“Said the person who was actually rewarded with the title “Biggest Drama Queen” in high school.”

“To be fair, I was actually in the drama club.”

“Even if you weren’t in the drama club, you’d still have been the biggest drama queen in high school.”

“True."

They were happy, or, as Briseis would say, “As happy as a person can be in a country that’s capitalistic, has institutional racism, and is currently making me pay back $40,000 dollars in student loans.”

To which Patroclus would probably respond, “B, shut up." 


	3. i'll be there

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm 99.99% sure I got Patroclus' last name wrong...oh well ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

“Oh my god, dude, seriously, hurry the hell up.” Briseis grumbled, her normally forceful voice diminished by the phone in Pat’s hand.

“I’m going, I’m going, geeze,” Patroclus grabbed his coat from the couch. “Bye babe, I’ll see you after work.”

“Wait,” Achilles jogged toward him, his curly hair bouncing around his ears.

“What?” Pat turned around impatiently, shrugging his coat onto his shoulders.

Achilles pressed a kiss to his throat, and his throat erupted in goosebumps.

“Your lips are cold, you dweeb.”

“I was eating ice cream.”

“It’s 7 am.”

“I know.”

Patroclus rolled his eyes. “If it wasn’t for me, I think you’d die of malnutrition.”

“Thank the gods you’re still around then.” Achilles kissed Pat’s jawline. “We all know the world wouldn’t be able to go on without me in it.”

“God forbid you stop being so full of yourself.” His eyes fluttered shut as Achilles worked his way up his jaw, grazing past his cheekbone and landing a solid, cold kiss on his lips.

“Then I wouldn’t be me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Patroclus wrapped his arms around Achilles’ waist. “I’m gonna be so late. You-know-who and his team are probably gonna kill me.”

“Fuck ‘em.” Achilles smiled against his lips, his thumbs gently brushing his cheekbones.

“Briseis is _definitely_ gonna kill me.”

“Now her I’m scared of,” Achilles replied, pulling away reluctantly. “Go. I’ll see you after work.”

“That’s what I said like 5 minutes ago.”

“Rude.”

“You love me, though.” Patroclus speed walked out of his apartment, breaking into a jog as he went down the stairs.

“You know, if you’d quit macking on your boyfriend we’d be able to get this show on the road way faster.”

“Why are you still on the line?”

“You’re the one who forgot to hang up. Trust me, the last thing I wanna hear is you two cooing at each other so early in the morning.

“Jealous much?”

Briseis’ laughter crackled through the speakerphone. “Are you forgetting that I’m both gay as a rainbow _and_ in a relationship?”

“Those are both things you remind me of everyday when you’re shoving your tongue down Deidameia’s throat, but thanks for reminding me again.” Patroclus flung the gate of his apartment complex open, jogging out to Briseis’ dark blue car idling by the sidewalk.

“Jerk.” She revved the engine. “Hurry up and get in, I don’t have all day.”

“Kay.” He ended the call, opening the car door and sliding in, dropping his cell phone into the seat divider.

“How the hell,” Briseis pulled out of her parking spot, maneuvering her way around a garbage truck, “do you manage to have like five new hickies on your person every time I pick you up? That’s physically impossible."

“Lesbian bed death hitting you and Meia hard?” Patroclus teased.

Briseis snorted. “You wish.” She made a sharp turn and sped up a little, turning to look at him a little better. “You look tired.”

“Yeah, well, what can I say? Achilles is-”

“Don’t _even_ finish that sentence.” Briseis pretended to gag. “It’s bad enough I caught you guys going at it last month and have to have that image embedded in my brain forever, I don’t want to have to relive it every time I see you.”

“You know one time we did it in the janitor’s closet in the psych-"

“Enough!” Briseis screeched, her right hand slapping at Pat’s chest. “Don’t. Ever. Bring. Up. Sex. Again.” She punctuated each word with a punch to his shoulder.

“Ow!” Patroclus rubbed his shoulder. “It’s not my fault you’re a prude.”

“You call it being a prude, I call it being classy.”

Patroclus laughed, his head falling back against the cushioned head rest. “So that’s what we’re calling it now? Classy?”

“Dick.”

“I know.”

Briseis pulled into the hospital parking lot, pulling into a parking spot a split second before Agamemnon made it in. 

“He’s gonna kill you for that.”

“Let him try.”

She checked her hair in the mirror, then stepped out of the car, a fake smile plastered on her face. Patroclus followed her, glancing back at Agamemnon once, and turning around quickly. 

“B, his face looks like a tomato, oh my god, it’s priceless, you gotta see it.”

“I can’t turn around, I’m not giving him the satisfaction,” she replied through clenched teeth.

“You’re missing out,” Pat chuckled. “It’s amazing.”

“I’ll live.” 

She pulled him along by the wrist, practically dragging him into the building. 

“See ya later, Nurse Menoitiades. I’ve got work to do, and you’re late.”

“Later, Nurse Rached.”

“Oh, you are _so_ gonna get it later.”

~~

He didn’t see her again till his lunch break, although his phone was buzzing with texts that he chose to ignore until he had some time to himself.

As soon as he opened his phone, 10 texts assaulted him. 

**You should’ve taken a picture of Aggy for me.**

**Scratch that I don’t need any pictures of him.**

**Hey.**

**Pat.**

**Where r u?**

**I’m in the caf, send help.**

**Seriously get ur butt over here now.**

**Sos.**

**SOS**

**PATROCLUS!!!!**

He got another text from Achilles that simply read ‘ **;)** ’.

“Crap,” he muttered, breaking into a jog. One of Briseis’ friends gave him a _look_ as went past her, shaking her head in dismay.

"Gods, what did he do this time?” 

He skidded to a stop at the elevator, striding into the metal box of death and coming face to face with…

Agamemnon.

“Patroclus,” he said tersely.

“Aggy,” Pat replied shortly. He pressed the L button, once, hoping to get to Achilles before he caused any permanent damage to anyone.

Agamemnon’s face darkened at the nickname, but he appeared to restrain himself for his next comment.

“How’s loverboy?”

“Achilles is just fine, thank you.”

“Hm.” Agamemnon made a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat, turning to stare at the buttons in the elevator with an almost frightening intensity.

The elevator didn’t seem to be moving, and Patroclus prayed to whatever gods were out there listening to him to move the elevator, and to _not_ let it suddenly malfunction. Not when Agamemnon was in the elevator with him.

The elevator jolted, and began moving slowly. Patroclus sent a thanks out to all the gods, and an extra thanks to Tyche. Just in case.

He waited till Agamemnon had made his way out of the elevator, then ran in the general direction of the cafeteria, praying against all hope that Achilles hadn’t burned something down, or gotten into a fight with Hector again.

He flung open the door of the cafeteria, and came face to face with Briseis who was…teary eyed.

“B?”

“Oh my god, I’m sorry, I’m in the way,” she sniffed, wiping her eyes and moving out of the way to show…Achilles, down on one knee and-

“Oh,” Pat whispered. He looked around and saw a big poster (several of Briseis’ and his friends were holding it up) that had a big red heart on it, with “A + P” written in it. He took note of Achilles’ parents standing aways off, his father looking a little lost but content, while his mother looked worried.

Achilles cleared his throat. “Patroclus. I…I had an entire speech written out for this but I just completely forgot it, so I’m just gonna wing it.

“I love you. A lot. I know you know that, but I like telling you every day, even if it embarrasses you a little bit because I confess my love for you at the most inappropriate times, like when you’re arguing with that old guy in apartment 2b, or when you’re in the bathroom pretending you’re not reading People magazine, or when I just woke up and I’m drooling on your chest."

Patroclus smiled, taking a step closer to Achilles.

“Anyway, um, I love you more than anyone I’ve ever loved in my entire life, and you’ve made me the happiest person in the world. The only thing that would make me happier would be if you would accept my proposal, and marry me.

“So, Patroclus Menoitiades, will you marry me?”

Patroclus nodded, a lump in his throat, as he threw himself across the two feet of distance between them and buried his face in Achilles’ neck.

The entire cafeteria erupted in whoops and cheers, everyone clamoring for a look at the newly engaged couple.

“I love you,” Pat mumbled. “I know I don’t tell you often enough, but I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Achilles replied, his hands gripping Patroclus’ back tightly. “But I think you have to let me put the ring on you or it’s not official.”

“Right,” he blushed and pulled back, letting Achilles slip the ring onto his finger. Someone in the corner of the room started humming single ladies, which prompted a sudden (and short lived) flash mob. Pat laughed as he watched Briseis grind on Deidameia, who had been hiding behind the poster the whole time, and got off his suddenly aching knees, pulling his fiancé up with him.

“This is the gayest thing I’ve ever had the pleasure of being a part of!” Briseis shouted at him, giggling through the tears in her eyes, and Patroclus reached out to hug her, squeezing her so tightly her lost all feeling in his left shoulder.

“I love you,” he said in her ear. “And you’ll always be my best friend. Even if you don’t want to anymore, at this point you don’t have a choice.”

“You’re gonna make me cry again,” she warned, her thin fingers patting his hair. “I love you, too, though. Always will, even when I’m mad at you.”

“Gay,” Patroclus whispered.

“Gay squared.”

“Gay cubed.”

“Gay to infinity.”

“You win."

 

**_“It’s a total lie to say there’s only one person you’re going to be with for the rest of your life. If you’re lucky - and if you try really hard - there will always be more than one."_ **

 


End file.
